


Daybreak

by abelrunner5



Series: poison honey [2]
Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for S3 in general, Spoilers for S3M60, The first sentence is an enormous spoiler for S3 so watch out if you aren't there yet!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abelrunner5/pseuds/abelrunner5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five stumbles out of bed, half-drunk on a nightmare and on the guilt. Sam finds the trembling runner, and tries to help. Everything is still fresh, and still barely healing, just like the scraped knees, shins, elbows. Heart. What is a person supposed to do with all this loss?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> A week after London.

It's been about a week since we stopped Moonchild and lost Simon when Sam finds me. When I find Sam. When everything is cracked and purple – like my still-healing scraped knuckles, elbows, knees. Heart. I've managed to stumble out of bed, half-drunk on the nightmare, on residual guilt and grief, and make it outside of my dorm. Into the misty, cold night. I think I ended up somewhere in between the comms shack and the hospital, leaning on a rusted chain-link fence, but I'm not sure. Because I can't see – not really. My eyes and brain are being flooded with images of everyone I've lost, with the way Simon screamed, agonized,  as he died (he did awful things, but in the end, he saved us all – I still can't breathe), with Moonchild's fall and how I couldn't stop her (and how, oh, it felt a little bit _good_ watching her body crack below), with the heavy guilt that still haunts me from destroying the Comansys flotilla, from almost killing Sam, from letting the undead into Abel (I know I wasn't myself, I was mind-controlled, but _god_ , that fact still won't bring anyone back from the dead), with Archie, Sara, Runner Ten, the Major, my parents – everyone gone –

I lean on the fence, hard. It’s the only thing keeping me from toppling to my knees. I cover my mouth with my hand, smothering the sobs. _Don’t cry, come on, you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re Runner Five, remember? Stoic, moral, steady; not – not this._ But my body does not care about Runner Five, it cares about _me_ and how this apocalypse keeps taking, and taking, without ever giving back. My muscles tremble, and nausea leaves me pale. I don't know what to do. How to cope with so much death. What am I supposed to do with all this loss? Why them, and not me? How many do I – do we –

“Five? Is that you? Are you okay?” A voice interrupts everything. The images freeze, as do I. Sam is next to me. Oh, god, Sam is next to me! I let out a half-gasp, half-sob, and turn my head away from him. Wipe away the tears, quickly, quietly. “What are you doing out – Oh.” He saw, still. Of course he noticed. “Hey, I’m - Do you want to be alone right now?”

I tighten my grip on the freezing metal as the world sways underneath my feet. “I – I'm fine, Sam, really.” My lower lip trembles. _Traitor._  “A-okay, yeah?” I spread my arms, a pained smile gracing my face.

The streetlight flickers.

“Five … Do you want to talk about it?” He’s all softness and care and quiet nervousness. He fiddles with a stray thread on his sweater.

 _Fuck_. _You’re going to make me start crying again._ But I don’t say that. An airy, pained laugh erupts from my mouth, still. “What is there to talk about? That everyone I care about keeps dying? That I still don’t feel like myself, even though we saved the world, _again_? That I’m scared I’m going to start hearing Moonchild’s voice, like in those rumours from New Canton? I – I _can’t_ talk about it anymore, Sam. I just want—I want some goddamn _peace_ for once.” That was too sharp. My voice was too loud. But anger—not at Sam, but at the world—bubbles deep in my gut, and I feel like I’m choking on it.

He’s quiet for a long pause. “How about we go make some tea? It’s freezing out here, yeah?” His voice is gentle, and I sigh, breathing in deep. The red-tug of anger and despair stops pulling for a moment.

“Yeah.”

We go to Janine’s farmhouse, slow and steady. I don’t say a word the whole way there, hands shoved into pockets and teeth biting the inside of my cheek. Sam stays silent, too, until we reach the kitchen. Janine’s probably still asleep, so being quiet is paramount unless we want to face her grumpy wrath later. Sam starts opening cupboards as I sit down at the dining table, muscles complaining from the way I keep them tense.

“Hmm, let’s see. You feeling Earl Grey or something more like chamomile or peppermint?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”  

A minute, or maybe it’s ten; and a steaming mug of chamomile tea is placed in front of me. I grip the warm sides, staring at the teabag bobbing in the yellow-beige liquid. “Thanks.” I try to give him a smile or meet his eyes, but can’t.

“No problem, Five,” and I see a sad smile on his lips.

I stare at the tea.

He sips it, sitting in front of me.

I clench my left fist when a wave of something that feels like panic but is something more, maybe, grips me by the throat. My jaw clenches when my eyes well with saltwater. “How many, Sam? How many do we have to lose before – before it’s enough?” I whisper, still staring at the mug. “It _hurts._ I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, I …”

“I … I don’t know how much is enough, Five. But I’m still here, yeah? So many of us are still here. I know how much it hurts to hold on after losing so much. I know,” he whispers back, and his voice cracks. “But you've been so brave. You've gotten this far. I'm so sorry for all the loss. God, if I could give you everything back I would. I would.”

His hand is on the table. I intertwine mine with his as the wetness starts to leak down my cheeks, and I hold back the worst of it. The enormity of everything, the weight of it all keeps searing through me. I need to focus on him. I need to – “Keep talking. About anything. It – It helps.” I swallow. “How – How was your day?"

He nods, then, tracing looping circles on the back of my hand. I take another gasping, wet breath. I hear him inhale slowly as I lean back, closing my eyes. "Okay. Okay. Um, well - I guess my day was decent? Especially with the warm weather. I got up around eight, and helped Owen through a supply run. He's getting really fast — almost as fast as you." He half-whispers it, and I breathe into my belly. This will pass. It will. It will. That’s what they always say, right? This can’t last forever. _Right?_   But it sure as hell feels like a permanent state, now. Like something irreversible.

He keeps talking. "Then, I had lunch with you guys. The expression on Maxine's face when she tried one of the Marmite Quail Eggs was the best thing, remember? My god." I let out a stuttered chuckle that sounds more like a sob, and nod, not trusting my voice enough to speak. "After lunch, I checked Rofflenet, and tried to find another picture of that puppy you love from that settlement up north. Lilo, right? There weren't any, but hey. At least I got to think about puppies for a few minutes."

"Li –Lilo is the cutest," I mumble, eyes finally opening. I keep them focused on my cooling mug of tea. The weight settles deeper into me, though, like it’s trying to prove my hypothesis of the impermanence of emotion wrong.

"Yeah. He really is. After doing that, I helped Jody organize supplies for a bit. Which is obviously super entertaining to hear about." I hum, wiping my salt-swollen eyes. I focus on what I can feel  _here_ — the scent of chamomile and honey, Sam's fingers tracing my hand. The deep notes of his voice. How he smells of peach and coffee.

"And then?"

"And then I played Mirror's Edge with you, remember? You helped me get past the whole Ropeburn level. Thanks, by the way. That fight was kicking my ass."

I let out a small, fragile, saltwater laugh. The weight inside me flinches away from that. "It wasn't that hard. You just need a bit of - of practice."

He chuckles, and I feel the notes of his laugh crawl into my chest and tug the weight and fear out, little by little. Little by little.

We sit there until my thighs go numb, and my untouched tea is cold. He tells me all about the little things of his life before, like how he got into Demons & Darkness, or what his first day as radio operator at uni was like, or why he thinks Marmite is better plain than on bread. Eventually, inevitably, I can breathe in easy again. The weight resigns itself to leaving, like it always does, and my hands stop their trembling. I remember all the times he's comforted me through the heaviness of the apocalypse - like in the orchard right after Moonchild when I thought the guilt was going to kill me; or after Eight's death in the supply room, and I feel gratefulness spread through me. What did I do to deserve a friend like him? 

I'm exhausted, and a little hollow, but I survived this one. With Sam. The mist outside begins to lift, and the sky is deep violet with the coming dawn. With daybreak. I carefully stand up, bringing our mugs to the sink with a muffled groan as my muscles protest from disuse.

He follows me over. I roll my shoulders, and turn towards him. Vulnerable. Exposed. "I … I should try and get some rest. I, uh …"

"You'll be okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. I will. Thanks, Sam, for staying up with me. I'm ... I'm sorry you had to see me like that. As Head of Runners, I shouldn't, um, crack like that. I'll try to … not do that again."

Sam furrows his brow, and shakes his head. "No, Five. You're human first, and after everything you've been through, it's okay. Don't apologize. Please."

I look down, and then meet his eyes. Softly. Devotion tangles itself inside my chest and throat, and I smile a little. "I know. I know. You're right. I – I get … overwhelmed sometimes. I'm … Okay, now. And I'll be okay. Don't worry. Thanks again for helping me through that."

"Whenever you need me, I'm here. You know that." His eyes return the softness, and I feel my sharp edges go supple.

"Yeah. I do." A heavy, slow second passes. A sense of glass-like peace settles inside me, and I loosen my tense muscles. We leave Janine’s kitchen, and make our way back to our respective dorms with gentle feet. "We really should go get some sleep. Janine will kill us if she finds us still up. Goodnight, Sam," I say, standing in my doorway.

"Goodnight, Five. Take care, okay?"

"You too."

And I sleep.


End file.
